A Country Wooing (3 page)

“Yes,” Alex said doubtfully. “I thought there was an unconscionable crowd of servants hustling around, but I supposed they were all coming out of the woodwork to get a look at me.”

“So they were, I expect,” Mrs. Wickfield agreed. She found nothing unusual in the remark, but to Anne it sounded again unlike Alex. Some new consequence had come to him as a result of his inheritance, or perhaps it was the effect of the army. It would never have occurred to Lord Alex that the girls were coming forth to admire him. Her thoughts were turned from this by Alex’s next statement.

“We’re having a party at the Hall this evening in honor of my return. Just a small party—my family and you, if you will do us the honor.”

Enthusiastic acceptances were given, and very soon Alex rose to take his leave. Mrs. Wickfield disappeared again, leaving Anne to show him the door. When he opened it, sunlight streamed in on them, throwing his lean cheeks into shadow and accentuating the lines from his nose to his lips. He reminded her of the carvings of saints and martyrs seen in churches. There was an austere look about him. The war must have been horrid.

“Are things really as bad as your mother indicated?” he asked.

“We’ve never gone to bed hungry. I think
you
have, Alex.”

“War is ... different. I hadn’t thought things would be so desperate at home.”

“Hardly desperate. I hope you will tell me all about Spain sometime. I’m sure you had more dangerous adventures than stealing donkeys and hiding yourself in a flour bag.”

“I plan to forget all that. This is a new beginning for ... me.”

There was a little hesitation before that last word. The intent, conscious beam in his eyes suggested a different word. “A new beginning for
us”
would have given a more suitable reading. Then he smiled, squeezed her fingers, said,
“Hasta mañana, querida,”
and left.

She laughed in surprise to hear an old friend suddenly crop out into a new language. “What does that mean?” she called after him. The words, though totally unintelligible, had an alluring sound.

“It means I’m very glad to be back. Very glad, Annie.”

She closed the door and turned to see her mother hovering at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s changed, don’t you think?” Anne asked pensively.

“I’m glad to see he’s come out of himself a little. He didn’t use to stay to lunch. I half wish he hadn’t taken it into his head to do it today. An omelette and cold cuts, and he looking as though he could eat a horse. We’ll do better next time.”

“If there is a next time. This may have been his ceremonial call.”

“He’ll be back. Alex won’t waste much time to find a mother for the children and a proper mistress for the Hall. You’ll have to look sharp and move fast to nab him. At least he never was one for throwing his cap at all the girls.”

“But he’s changed. You must have noticed, Mama. All that talk about people wanting to ‘get a look at him.’ He’s very much aware of his worth.”

“The man’s not an idiot. Nor is he the type to be running to London to marry an heiress. You have the inner track, having known him forever.”

But Anne didn’t feel she knew him at all. What sparse knowledge she’d ever had of Lord Alex hardly seemed to apply to Lord Penholme. He was an intriguing stranger, and even spoke a new language. Travel was broadening, folks said, and it had changed Alex in some undefinable way. He looked harsher, more self-assured. He showed a latent anger toward Charles that she had not seen before he left. This annoyed her, but other thoughts soon pushed it from her mind. Something in this new old friend made her very much aware of herself as a woman. She remembered that long hug when he had arrived and the soft beam in his eyes when he had taken his leave in Spanish.

She shook away these vague thoughts. “You sound mighty eager to be rid of me, you unnatural mother,” she joked.

“I’m only forty-two. Maybe I’d like to see you settled to try my hand at a beau.”

“The butcher has been giving us the best cuts in the shop for a year now. I think you might have him if you played your cards right.”

“It’s not the butcher I have in mind. We owe the draper more, and he, of course, is a very fine gentleman. He hardly ever spits on the floor like the butcher, and he has a charming flat over his shop. I would make a suitable Mrs. Mumbleton, don’t you think?”

“Unexceptionable,” Anne agreed blandly. “Then I could afford that piece of white crepe I’ve been eyeing this past month, for I shall expect a good family discount once you are keeping shop, Mama.”

She thought of the white crepe with a wistful longing. How elegant she would look if she could wear it to Penholme Hall for this evening’s family party. She pulled herself up short on the thought, for it wasn’t Robbie or Aunt Tannie or the children she pictured admiring her. It was Alex.

Chapter Three

The ladies from Rosedale owned a carriage, but for the past six weeks it had sat in the stable, awaiting a new wheel. Unless a trip could be made in a gig, they remained at home. They often went to the Hall in the gig, and were surprised to see a carriage drive up to their door. Alex had sent Lord Robin to fetch them.

It was not Robin’s jet-black hair or his blue eyes and long lashes nor even his resemblance to the late Charles that made him a favorite with Anne. Having known him from the cradle, she was heedless of his appearance as he was himself. She valued him for his undemanding good nature, which was always happy to accommodate itself to circumstances.

“Hello, Aunt Alice, Annie.” He smiled. Mrs. Wickfield was in fact his second cousin, but everyone from the Hall called her Auntie. “Alex has taken the cork-brained notion you’ll freeze to death driving home in the gig, and sent me down for you.”

“Cold in May? I cannot think so,” Anne said, laughing.

“No more than can I,” Robin agreed. “I daresay Alex finds anything below a hundred cold, after frying in Spain. Dark as a blackamoor, ain’t he? And skinny as a rail.”

Robin’s unseeing eyes ran over Anne’s best rose silk gown without approval or the opposite. She picked up her white shawl, its fringe completed, and was ready for the trip.

The change of carriage was agreeable to Mrs. Wickfield, who preferred a closed vehicle after dark. “How did Alex know our carriage had fallen apart?” she asked.

“He must have been to the stable this morning, I suppose. He has eyes like a lynx, especially for things gone to ruin. I didn’t realize the Hall was such a shambles, till he began lamenting. Have you heard the news?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but rushed on with his announcement. “He’s going to give me Sawburne. We’re riding over soon to have a look around. Lord, I nearly fell over in shock when he told me. I made sure he’d drag his heels, as Charlie did when Papa died. I am to leave as soon as I learn how to command the whole fort by myself. He means to take the reins,” he added, suiting the metaphor to his own preference.

“How soon?” Anne asked.

“A few months, as soon as we’ve become reacquainted and set Penholme to rights. I shall be lonely as a lobster. I’d like to take Willie and Bung with me, but they’d never leave the hero. Of course, Alex will be over often to steer me straight. I can learn a lot from Alex. He knows more about farming than any of us. He’s been going over accounts with his man of business all afternoon and is dismal as dust about the mess things are in. Poor Buckram has had his ears singed so often they’re smoking. My own are feeling hot. It seems Buckram is a bit of a
bandido.
However, I wrote Alex that we were going to rack and ruin, so I guess he ain’t too surprised.”

“I hope he gets the black curtains in the blue suite fixed up,” Mrs. Wickfield said.

“No, sir, it’s the tenant farms he’s all het up about. They haven’t been bringing in anything like they should. He was nagging Charlie to do tiling and fencing and I don’t know what-all before he left, but he never could get him to spend a sou on repairs, and the things still haven’t been done. Now the actual houses are caving in besides—something about water seeping into the foundations. I daresay it will cost a monkey to fix. Sawburne’s as dry as a board,” he added complacently.

This sort of talk occupied them till they reached Penholme. It was like entering a second home, and a more attractive one than they left, entering the gold saloon at Penholme. The ravages of time and neglect were not so apparent in this front room. Golden draperies were less susceptible to discoloring than some shades, and the timeless Oriental carpets wore well. Aunt Tannie had ordered that the girls polish the fine old furnishings, and the oil paintings on the wall were still magnificent. The upholstered pieces were past their prime, but with so many people occupying them, their condition was seldom apparent.

The children were all allowed to stay up and take part in this happy family occasion. Willie and Bung were decked out in a pair of blue suits that showed an inch of wrist below the sleeves. They darted to the doorway to welcome their cousins in a raucous manner that threatened everyone’s eardrums.

“Alex brought us real guns from Spain!” one of the twins shouted. It was impossible to tell which, as he kept his teeth hidden.

“Mine killed seven Frenchies!” the other boasted, well pleased with such an accomplished weapon.

“And a French flag with blood on it!” Bung said. A broad smile revealed his chipped tooth.

“How nice,” Anne said. “I hope it is French blood.”

Alex strolled up to greet the company. Anne noticed he had removed his uniform. His black jacket made him look more familiar than on his visit to Rosedale. But as he stood, gazing intently at her with a little smile curving his lips, she again had that odd sensation of looking at a stranger.

“Quit pestering your cousins,” he chided the children.

Mrs. Wickfield went forward to receive a welcoming embrace. “Skin and bones,” she complained, shaking her head at him. She tugged at his loose jacket. “You’ll have to get yourself some new jackets, Alex.”

“Not only myself. I’m ashamed to be seen in church with these two scarecrows,” he said, tousling Bung’s hair. “I can’t believe how they’ve grown.”

“We’ve growed six inches since you left,” Willie boasted.

“You’ve growed illiterate, too,” Alex said, leading them all into the saloon. “I notice the biggest change in Babe.” He turned to the baby of the family as he spoke. Babe’s hair was nearly blond, and arranged in a mop of natural curls that framed a pretty face. “She was only a tot when I left. Now she tells me she’s reading, if you please.” At that moment, she sat holding a large stuffed doll on her lap and ignoring the visitors.

Loo came forward, a plainer child but with promise of growing into a handsome young lady. “I’m all finished reading, and I’m writing,” she informed the guests. Then as an afterthought she dropped a curtsy.

“I didn’t see you writing me any letters, you minx,” Alex said, and chucked her chin.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of looking at them, of touching them. Loo put her hand in his and swung on it. “I would have wrote if I’d known you wanted me to,” she apologized.

“Another illiterate. I thought you girls had a governess.”

“Yes, she reads all the time,” Loo told him. “She reads novels. She’s reading me all about a haunted house in Cornwall, with a dungeon and a ghost.”

“Edifying!” Alex said, lifting a brow. “We must look into this novel-reading governess and see if she ever reads grammar. Come and sit down, ladies, if you can find a chair for this brood of gypsies cluttering up the place.”

It was not impossible to find two more seats in a room that boasted six sofas and a dozen chairs, but it was impossible to find any silence or privacy. The children still found their soldier brother too marvelous a novelty to leave his side, and he didn’t seem much disposed to pushing them off. He took Babe on his knee and put up with the twins’ pestering in a very good spirit.

“Why did you take off your uniform, Alex?” Bung demanded.

“Because I’ve already showed it off.”

“I wish I had a uniform like yours,” Willie said. “I’d go and shoot a million Frenchies.”

“Do you think I wore that nice outfit to crawl through the mud and kill my fellowman? That one’s reserved for slaying ladies.”

“Did you bring your fighting outfit home? Can I see it, Alex?”

“I didn’t carry a tattered, mud-stained coat home. I never want to see it again.”

“I wish
I
had it. I’d love to have it,” Bung declared.

“It was full of lice,” Alex said blandly.

Bung stared, disbelieving. “Lice! In your clothes?”

“Certainly. It’s not easy to bathe when you’re bivouacking in a field.”

Mrs. Tannie shook her head sadly. “You’re making my flesh creep, Alex. I can feel vermin crawling all over me. And you, Master Jackanapes,” she added to Robin, “never mind peering at me like a stuffed frog. Lice should not be discussed in company.”

From long familiarity with her dark humor, the family had learned to ignore Aunt Tannie.

“What did you eat?” Willie asked.

“Whatever we could find. A rabbit, if we were lucky. Roots, windfall oranges, bitter as bedamned. Black bread. How I look forward to Pembers’s dinner. And sleeping in a bed with no rats prowling around, no rain falling on me, no fear of a bullet parting my hair.”

The twins exchanged a wary look. Anne assumed their brother’s propaganda of disillusionment had begun.

“The fighting and shooting must have been exciting,” Willie suggested hopefully.

“Very exciting. Of course, not many days are actually spent fighting and shooting. The dreariest part of being a soldier is the waiting. Sitting around for a month, waiting to attack. Then a day’s ‘fighting and shooting,’ as you call it. The survivors who aren’t maimed ride twenty miles and wait another month.”

Willie frowned into his lap. He lifted his head and smiled. “I’ll bet it’d be exciting being a sailor!”

“A pity we couldn’t ask Admiral Lord Nelson,” Alex said. “Of course, he’s been shot dead already, after losing one eye and one arm. But I daresay it would be great fun.”